Dear Erik,
I don't even know why I'm am yet again writing to you, as I haven't received a reply from my last correspondence, and have no assurance you are receiving these letters. There is just so much I wish to tell you, about me, how life has taught me so many lesson. Lessons I wish I had known along time ago.
As you probably heard, I married Rhoul not long after you sent us away that night all those years ago. Rhoul was kind to me, for the most part, though a bit demanding. I was Christine the Vicomtesse de Chagny now, he would say I had an image to uphold. So I donned my mask and played the perfect little wife. The bastard. I found out that I wasn't the only one who could hide their true self. Over the last few months I began to suspect Rhoul of infidelity, he would stay out late 2 or 3 times a week with no explanation, and he began receiving mysterious letters, written in a female hand. He didn't do his job in keeping them secret from me though, I found the torn and crumpled remains of a perfumed letter in the waste basket of his office. That was a month ago, and I have since moved back into the home bequeathed to me when my father died. Thank God, I wouldn't even let Rhoul even think of selling it after we got married. You know, he hasn't as much as written me to try and amend our marriage. Good riddance, I say. I now know the bitterness you must have felt when I betrayed you. And I did betray you, in so may ways. I let your face get between us, such a petty thing, and it destroyed us. I once again ask you have mercy towards me despite my actions, and pray that you may come to forgive me, though I hardly deserve forgiveness.
I must go, I am searching for a job, and have an interview with a family seeking a governess for their small child. I do so hope you will receive and reply to this letter.
Cordially,
Christine
***
Erik didn't know how to respond to the second letter any more then he had known how to respond to the first. He knew that the de Chagny family had been popular with Paris's most informed gossips over the past few months, for they had been the topic of many of the whispers that floated between both performers and stagehands alike. But when ever he heard that name he discontinued his haunting of the opera that day and withdrew to his underground lair, wishing to forget Christine for good. And he did, or so he thought. But then the letters came, and his heart was once again reminded of the familiar pain from years ago. One part of him felt compassion for Christine's plight, and wanted to seek her out, gather her into his arms, and promise protection from all such pain forever. Yet the other part of him shunned her: It served her right, after all, for now she knows how deeply it hurts to be betrayed, how it felt to be screwed over by the one you had given your heart to.
Sighing, Erik sat down at in his study and began to compose a reply.
I don't even know why I'm am yet again writing to you, as I haven't received a reply from my last correspondence, and have no assurance you are receiving these letters. There is just so much I wish to tell you, about me, how life has taught me so many lesson. Lessons I wish I had known along time ago.
As you probably heard, I married Rhoul not long after you sent us away that night all those years ago. Rhoul was kind to me, for the most part, though a bit demanding. I was Christine the Vicomtesse de Chagny now, he would say I had an image to uphold. So I donned my mask and played the perfect little wife. The bastard. I found out that I wasn't the only one who could hide their true self. Over the last few months I began to suspect Rhoul of infidelity, he would stay out late 2 or 3 times a week with no explanation, and he began receiving mysterious letters, written in a female hand. He didn't do his job in keeping them secret from me though, I found the torn and crumpled remains of a perfumed letter in the waste basket of his office. That was a month ago, and I have since moved back into the home bequeathed to me when my father died. Thank God, I wouldn't even let Rhoul even think of selling it after we got married. You know, he hasn't as much as written me to try and amend our marriage. Good riddance, I say. I now know the bitterness you must have felt when I betrayed you. And I did betray you, in so may ways. I let your face get between us, such a petty thing, and it destroyed us. I once again ask you have mercy towards me despite my actions, and pray that you may come to forgive me, though I hardly deserve forgiveness.
I must go, I am searching for a job, and have an interview with a family seeking a governess for their small child. I do so hope you will receive and reply to this letter.
Cordially,
Christine
***
Erik didn't know how to respond to the second letter any more then he had known how to respond to the first. He knew that the de Chagny family had been popular with Paris's most informed gossips over the past few months, for they had been the topic of many of the whispers that floated between both performers and stagehands alike. But when ever he heard that name he discontinued his haunting of the opera that day and withdrew to his underground lair, wishing to forget Christine for good. And he did, or so he thought. But then the letters came, and his heart was once again reminded of the familiar pain from years ago. One part of him felt compassion for Christine's plight, and wanted to seek her out, gather her into his arms, and promise protection from all such pain forever. Yet the other part of him shunned her: It served her right, after all, for now she knows how deeply it hurts to be betrayed, how it felt to be screwed over by the one you had given your heart to.
Sighing, Erik sat down at in his study and began to compose a reply.